


We have the BEST conversations!

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Frazzles, I love their banter, I think the word anti is missing!, Nuts!, Robin and Strike talk about nonsense, Stakeouts and being stuck in cars, Stealthing, Strip Boggle, Twiglets, animals with allergies, create opportunities for boredom, deconstructed chicken pie, especially when it is someone you know!, headache tablets, indigestion tablets, meaning you end up talking about rubbish, often something silly needs to be treated seriously!, snails or slugs, speed bumps, squirrels using Epipens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-30 19:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: So, my writing pal LulaIsAKitten and I frequently have truly excellent idea flow conversations via digital media....and usually one of us ends up stating, 'We have the BEST conversations!'.On my way back from holidays I was stuck in a car not moving for almost 2 hours.It was incredibly boring (although I wrote a fic, so hey ho!) and I thought about the boredom Strike and Robin would face on stakeouts.Mr Hobbes and I often talk rubbish together on really odd topics and I have been inspired by several of these ideas.Lula and I met up this week for a Tom Q and A for the Souvenir and we plotted this idea out......I want prompts...the more outlandish and surreal the better - just a word will do!





	1. Twiglets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LulaIsAKitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/gifts).

“I tell you what I haven’t had in ages…” Cormoran briefly paused from demolishing his packet of Beef and Onion crisps.

Robin cocked her head sideways, a plethora of suggestions scrolling through her mind,  
“A bath?”

“No!” he growled, flashing her a sideways snarl as he continued eating his crisps.

“Erm…..a decent shag?”

“Robin!!! No!....although, yeah! No, what I was going to say was, a Twiglet!”

Robin licked her fingers, savouring the raw sourness of her salt and vinegar Snack A Jacks.  
There was movement across the road and Cormoran hovered with his hand on his phone just in case it was their mark leaving.  
It wasn’t.

“I haven’t had a Twiglet in ages either….do they still make them or are they just one of those Christmas things now?” Robin asked, rolling her empty bag in on itself into a small pyramid whilst Cormoran did his usual lengthwise fold and fasten into a knot on his.

“I don’t know. They used to have ‘em in every pub…..high in vitamin B, or D….whichever one’s in Marmite,” he brushed a few crumbs from his lapel and reached down for the bottle of ‘full fat’ Coke he’d insisted on.

They sat in silence for several minutes, Robin finished the last of her sandwich, Strike sipped his Coke and gently burped beside her.

They didn’t often do stake outs together, but what they often did was take turns and during the changeover would share lunch, or dinner, or supper, or even breakfast depending on whatever time the change over took place.  
Today they were parked up in the BMW, Robin was taking over.

Strike flicked his tongue around in his mouth and used his thumb nail to dislodge a stuck particle of something, washing it away with the last dregs of his drink.  
“Did you get chocolate too?”

The words were barely out of his mouth when she thrust across a bar of Raisin and biscuit Yorkie without even glancing at him, although she heard his ‘happy grunt’ and knew without the need for turning her head that he was grinning widely as he tore into it. 

The silence pervaded once more, broken only by a couple of sniffs, a clearing of throat and another hiccoughing burp.

“The good thing about Twiglets,” Robin stated, “Is that you eat them, and then….no matter how well you wash your hands, you can lick your finger later on and boom, another hit of Twiglet!”  
Cormoran nodded sagely beside her.

Robin grinned and giggled slightly, “We have the BEST conversations on stake outs!”  
“The BEST!” Strike agreed. “Right, I’m off. Call me later!”


	2. Strip Boggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We had to work out why they'd be playing this.....and who she'd play it with......and we loved the idea of Cormoran thinking, "I'd be dead good at this!"

“Why do you need to know?” Strike asked, sniffing and hitching his collar tighter around his neck.  
The Land Rover was a decent and solid vehicle, but it was bloody draughty!

Robin sat beside him, her eyes still glued to a pair of binoculars as she responded.  
“Well, we’re having a girls night thing next week at Van’s flat – me, Van and Ilsa – and we have to suggest something we’ve never done at a party…..and we’re doing it.”

Strike’s lips and forehead wrinkled pensively.  
“Well if Van’s there I’m assuming you won’t be smoking dodgy roll ups!”

Robin chuckled, “It has to be something we HAVEN’T already done!”

“Robin Ellacott, you mean that you’ve skinned up and got high on weed before I knew you?” he had twisted on the bench seat to face his partner and smiled at her pink cheeks and the sweetly enormous size of the pompom on her knitted hat.

“Yep, not so sweet and innocent!” she dropped the bins and passed them to him, “Swap.”  
She settled back on the seat and Strike assumed the binoculared stare.

“So come on…..what do you reckon the rules would be?” she asked.

“But why is it strip Boggle? Why not just strip poker?” he asked, maintaining his pose with black binoculars to his face.

“Well, because Ilsa hasn’t got a full set of playing cards, and none of us know how to play poker, and there isn’t time to learn, but we all know how to play Boggle….so…strip Boggle,” she stated it all so matter-of-factly that all potentially sexual elements of the topic had lost their pull.

Silence pervaded in the vehicle for several minutes.

“Well…..maybe it is just the person who has the lowest score each round…they take something off,” Strike suggested, with a minimal amount of expression.

Robin nodded, “Yeah, seems fair. Oh, remind me we need more bin bags for the office.”

Strike remained with his eyes fixed ahead of them, attached to the binoculars.

“Maybe you could have a special feature….maybe for a long word or something,” he mumbled abstractly following a further silent pause.

“What, like, maybe you get to nominate someone else?”

Cormoran sniffed and Robin could see him arching his eyebrows although the binoculars didn’t drop from where they were trained.  
“Yeah…or maybe, if you get an eight letter word you can bung something back on.”

Robin twitched her face into an impressed and thoughtful pout and scribbled on her small notepad.  
“Oooh, I like that….OK, rules for strip Boggle done!” she flipped the pad closed. 

“Right. I’m gonna go and water the begonias,” Strike announced, shivering as he opened the door and swung himself down from the vehicle after handing the binoculars across to Robin.  
He returned several minutes later and reached for the antiseptic hand gel in the front dash.

“Does my leg count as an item of clothing?” he asked, clearly having given the whole Strip Boggle further thought.

“You’re not gonna be there so it doesn’t matter!”

“I know, but I’d like to think that we’ve thought of all possible rules….I mean for when we patent the game and pitch it worldwide!” Cormoran sniffed, “Swap back?”

Robin shook her head, “’s’OK.”  
“Well, I’d consider it more of an accessory than an item of clothing,” Robin suggested distractedly.

Cormoran lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply, “So are you allowing a necklace, or a watch? ‘Cos they’re accessories….if you can’t have a leg, then you can’t have a watch.” He nodded, pleased with his logic.

“Fair enough, add it to the pad,” she reached one hand to her lap and passed across the notepad and pen, Strike balanced his cigarette in his mouth while he found the page and added the revisions in his spidery scrawl to her neat, loopy handwritten bullet points.

An hour later they’d managed to catch the briefest, but most importantly damaging sight of their mark entering the building they were monitoring.

“Didn’t I ask you to mention something earlier?” Strike asked as they prepared to drive off.

“Strip Boggle?” Robin asked quizzically.

“No!....Bin bags!” he stated, gesturing with his finger in triumph that he wasn’t letting Alzheimer’s win just yet.

Robin grinned as she started up the trusty vehicle, “We have the BEST conversations,” she giggled.  
“We do indeed….the BEST!” Cormoran nodded.


	3. Deconstructed chicken pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, so this one originally comes from Mr Hobbes - he was served a 'deconstructed trifle' which was obviously jelly, fruit, sponge, custard and cream all separated....and to this day he swears it was misrepresented and should have been on the menu as a 'construct it yourself' trifle, his point being it can't be deconstructed if it was never made in the first place!  
This then moved to a chicken pie after discussing with Lula; she'd been part of a chat where they had discussed a deconstructed chicken pie, and whether it was a deconstructed 'chicken pie', with deconstructed as the verb, OR 'deconstructed chicken' pie, with deconstructed as the adjective!!!  
I love stuff like this!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so I have tried to describe Gala Pie - I actually think it has different names in the UK, but basically it is like a British pork pie, with hot water crust pastry around it, but as well as the pork filling it has a boiled egg placed centrally, so you get a round circle of egg in each slice.

“I just think they stick loads of stupid words on a menu and it detracts from what you want to eat!”  
Strike’s voice had risen at least an octave on their trip from the pub to the spot they had found where they could park up and observe the goings on in the alleyway behind the off license.  
Robin was chuckling as she brought the car to a stand still and turned off the ignition.

“You enjoyed it! What’s the problem?” she stated, unclipping the seatbelt and easing the seat back slightly on the BMW.

Strike, in the passenger side already had his seat pushed as far back at it would go to accommodate his long limbs.  
“I did enjoy it! But I still say it wasn’t a bloody Chicken Pie!” he added with a scowl.

“It did say that it was a deconstructed chicken pie!” Robin clarified as she reached for, removed and began to suck on a Polo mint from the door pocket.  
Strike’s twitching and harrumph almost shook the windscreen.

“That’s what I mean….needless bloody crap names!”

Silence reigned for several minutes as they settled and stared at the alleyway.

“Anyway,” Strike rumbled, having settled back into the passenger seat of the BMW, “It wasn’t a deconstructed pie….that would imply it had been made and then taken apart.”

Robin absently made a small ‘Hmmmm?” noise as she glanced across at him.

“Well, it was just in bits – one pile of chicken, a pot of vegetables, a jug of gravy and that weird as shit Jenga thing with pieces of rock hard pastry!” he continued.

“I thought the pastry looked odd. If you don’t cook it with the pie it’s not gunna have that soft, soggy bit on the underside,” Robin commented.

“Exactly!” Cormoran nodded, glad that his partner was now taking his disappointing pub lunch as seriously as he felt she should. “Needed way more gravy to compensate…poxy little jug!”

Robin heard a few more mumbled comments from Strike but silence returned, broken only by him asking for a Polo.   
She took a further one and they sucked solemnly.

“It was actually an UN constructed chicken pie!” Strike stated suddenly.

“Mmmmhmmm,” Robin nodded, poking her tongue through the centre of her disappearing mint whilst Strike had long since crunched his own.

“I suppose you have to consider whether they meant ‘deconstructed chicken’ pie, OR, deconstructed ‘chicken pie’,” Robin added air quotes, to separate the phrases.

“Well that one I just had was the latter….I mean, what would be a deconstructed chicken?” Strike asked, furrowing his brow as he considered, the way he did when puzzling over a tricky crossword clue.

“Egg?” Robin suggested.

“Egg pie?.....Nobody would order an egg pie!......but of course that’s why they’d give it a stupid name….deconstructed chicken, aka, egg!” his voice was joking now, but still likely to return to full rant at any moment Robin thought.

A lull fell across them both and they watched as a car drove up to the alleyway, but left without giving them any cause for concern.

“I suppose egg pie is quiche,” Robin suggested eventually.

“Quiche is definitely NOT pie!” Strike retorted, lifting and stabbing his finger on the door frame of the car to make his point.

Robin wrinkled her nose, “OK then, Gala pie,” she saw a brief pause of confusion cross Strike’s face, “You know, I don’t know what you call it here, but it’s like a square, long, pork pie with an egg in the middle all the way through…..would that count as a deconstructed chicken?”

Strike stuck out his lower lip fractionally and breathed deeply; he loved how Robin went along with and indulged his sometimes slightly wacky topics…..he considered it a sign of an open and healthy mind.

He made a soft groaning sound in his chest, “I like Gala pie,” he mumbled. "Haven't had it in ages!"

“So do I,” Robin pressed back, twisting and smiling back at his now crinkle-eyed, soft lipped face.

“Shall we get some on the way back to the office?” he suggested.

“You’ve just eaten pie for dinner!”

“I think we’ve just established that I very much didn’t eat pie for dinner! Anyway, we need to investigate why you never get a piece of Gala pie with an egg end in it!” he retorted.

Robin grinned and chuckled softly.

“We have the BEST conversations in this car!” she smiled, shifting in her seat and yawning loudly.  
Cormoran beside her nodded, “We certainly do….the BEST.”


	4. Why do we eat snails but not slugs?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It always amazes me how people first discovered, or realised certain foods are edible, and in many cases delicious when they look so odd!  
Mr Hobbes and I have seriously had the conversation about snails -v- slugs! Why go for the faff of the shell if there is an easier option, which lead into our discussion about prawns, which are far more satisfying to eat when you have to tear them out of their shells (IMHO!)  
Anyway....more daft banter...this time in the office!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry Ramsden's I think is a pretty well known brand of Fish and Chips restaurants that began in Yorkshire (I think!)....they don't serve anything more adventurous than haddock or cod.....but it amused me that Robin would consider her Yorkshire roots in this discussion.

“Who do you reckon was the first person brave enough to eat a barnacle?” Strike was in the process of finishing the crossword, sprawled across the office sofa on a particularly balmy afternoon when business had been surprisingly lacking for a couple of days.

“Whoever they were they must have been starving….I mean, you just wouldn’t would you?” Robin wrinkled her nose and mouth at the thought.

Strike lowered the newspaper and his pen before responding, “Well, think about it, people eat snails all the time, by choice….so, you know….they taste good….but, my question, is who and why someone would initially try one.”

Robin continued tapping on her computer, but pursed her mouth slightly.

“Why do people eat snails, but not slugs?” she pondered.

Strike mimicked her expression as he considered her statement.   
He picked up the crossword and added a further couple of answers.

“I suppose technically slugs are easier too, no need to fiddle getting them out of the shells,” he stated.

Robin nodded, “Good point! Although, I do prefer a prawn with all it’s bits attached….there’s something nice about ripping them apart.”

Strike nodded minimally and made a “Hmmph” sound in his chest as he adjusted his sprawled position without making the sofa emit it’s ‘sound’!  
Robin typed.   
Strike mumbled and made small sounds of delight when he was able to add a further crossword answer.

“I wonder what happens to all the empty shells….from snails and mussels and stuff,” Robin mused, still maintaining her gaze on the screen and typing.

“You know my theory!” Strike stated, twitching his neck and brandishing his pen in the air.

Robin tutted and ceased focussing on the computer briefly, “They do not grind them up and add them to muesli!”

“Prove me otherwise! Anyway, we still haven’t decided the answer to my initial question….who ate the first barnacle?”

Robin pouted, “We have decided it was someone hungry, and they must have been by the sea…..so a hungry, lost fisherman….and maybe he was called Harry Ramsden and went on to make his fortune in fish and chip restaurants. Right, you need to sign these once they’re printed,” she announced and rose from her seat to fetch the sheets which were being spat out of the rumbling printer.

Strike grudgingly squirmed himself upright.

“Now I kind of need to know if slugs are edible…..they are definitely an easier option than a snail….ready shelled!” he took out his phone and sniffed as he brought up the screen.

“Are you Google’ing it?” Robin asked handing him the pages for signatures.

“Yep…..and apparently they ‘pass as food technically’…that’s not a resounding seal of approval is it?” he pulled a grimacing face.

“I suppose it is all relative though…..I mean raw oysters are a delicacy apparently, but I reckon they only just pass as food!” she stated, suppressing the look of abject horror on his face.

“OYSTERS! They are delicious….how can you consider them barely a foodstuff…I’d eat them every day if they were as fresh as they are in Cornwall!” he scrawled his signature across the lines required and handed the pages back to Robin’s outstretched hand.

She took them and resat at her desk shuddering her shoulders and making a retching sound.  
“They’re like phlegm!.....Chewy phlegm!” she stated, making Cormoran chuckle as he caught sight of the face she was pulling.

“We have the BEST conversations!” he grinned, getting up and moving to the kitchenette to re establish his blood to tea ratio.  
Robin smiled as she resumed her attention towards the computer, “We certainly do….the BEST!”


	5. Is it ethical to feed Frazzles to a pig?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to LulaIsAKitten for this excellent prompt!  
Frazzles in case you are not familiar with them, as a smoked bacon flavoured potato based snack, they look like small rectangular rashers of crispy bacon as the flavouring is in the form of a reddish stripe down each one!  
They are completely lovely, but you can't just eat one!  
Also, as like most British crisp flavours, they are 'meat' flavoured, but contain no actual meat! It used to be a bit of a joke that Walkers Beef and Onion and Roast Chicken crisps were Vegetarian whereas their cheese and onion were not!

Robin licked each of her fingers noisily beside Strike who was in the process of dislodging a piece of rocket from his teeth in the small mirror on the underside of the sun visor of the BMW.  
She was looking at the empty packet.

“Do you reckon it is ethical to feed Frazzles to a pig? Apparently they don’t contain any actual pork!” she stated.

Strike continued fiddling with, and sucking through, his teeth,  
“I reckon it’s fine then. But why would you?” he asked.

Robin began her ritual of turning her empty crisp bag into a small pyramid.  
“I don’t know why you would….maybe a whole batch goes wrong….like maybe gets burnt, so rather than throw it away….” she suggested.

“So, you’re actually asking about whether it is ethical to give burnt Frazzles to a pig….so not fit for humans, but OK for a poor piggy!” he stated, raising his brows and casting Robin a pointed gaze.

“I’m only thinking about food waste…or rather, not wasting it. Anyway there could be other reasons,” she allowed her eyes to narrow as she thought.

“Like what?” Strike quipped back, grinning.

“Oh, I don’t know!” she spat, “I was just considering how they make all these meaty type things without them having been anywhere near an animal….so Frazzles are veggie, but would you really feel OK giving them to a pig…’cos they still taste like bacon! I mean, would that be cruel?”

“But the pig doesn’t know that bacon is the flavour of itself!” Strike pointed out in a remarkably assured manner….as though he’d previously considered the principle at length.

“Ahhh, you say that….but DOES it?” Robin asked.

Strike cast his colleague a tweak necked glare.  
“Of course it bloody doesn’t!” 

“Well, on that basis, you could feed the pig pork pie, or sausages….working on the assumption that it doesn’t know they are made of one of it’s relatives!” she shot back.

Strike shook his head and sniffed, using his hand to gesture and back up his responding point, “Yeah, but they are actually MADE of pig….so unethical. The Frazzles have never been anywhere near the pig, so fine….even if burnt! They do however contain lactose from milk….so is it unethical to give them to cows?”

“But cow babies drink their own milk….so that’s fine!” Robin authoritatively responded. 

Beside her Strike sniffed, “We do have the BEST conversations!” he stated.  
Robin balanced her crisp bag pyramid on her knee and flicked it into the front dashboard, catching it adeptly as it bounced back towards her, “I know….the BEST!”


	6. Headache tablets and treacle tart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is absolutely courtesy of Mr Hobbes - this is one of his little weekly rants!   
I think Treacle Tart is a British thing - it is a more of a pudding than a cake and is basically a pastry case filled with a mixture of breadcrumbs, golden syrup and lemon juice and usually served as Strike suggests, with lashings of hot, thick custard - although Robin's suggestion of with ice cream is also OK at a push....it is glorious!

“Why do we say, ‘I’m going to take some headache tablets when we already have a headache?” Robin asked as she popped two tablets from a plastic pack and swallowed them with some water.  
Strike made a soft humphing sound beside her in the Land Rover.   
Stuck in traffic they hadn’t moved in at least 30 minutes….there was a problem with a level crossing ahead.

“Same goes for indigestion tablets,” he stated, making his voice lower in register so as not to grate further on his work colleagues throbbing temples.  
“I mean,” he continued, “It’s not like you’ve ever eaten a big meal and gone, ‘Ooooh I’d love a bit of uncomfortable wind and heartburn right now, hand me the indigestion tablets please!”

Robin could tell from his tone that he was trying to make her smile, and she did so.

“You ONLY get anti-histamines though,” she added, “Not that you’d actually want a histamine tablet I suppose.”

Strike pondered the concept, “Depends…..they unblock your airways…..so maybe if you worked somewhere that stunk really bad you’d want a histamine to bung your nose up!”

Robin giggled slightly, “Ooh, I could see Nick using them on a daily basis…..I’ve often thought that he must have a really high threshold for smells.”

“I’ve shared a bathroom with him from time to time…trust me, he has to have!” Strike grinned widely.

“Er…I’VE shared a toilet with you at work…..can I have a couple for Monday mornings when you’ve been out on the Doom Bar and curry the night before!” she flashed back, sniggering at his shaking head and pursed mouth.  
“Oh! And yours comes out like rose petals doesn’t it?!” he smiled back picking up the Metro from the back of the cabin and turning to the sports section.

One of their comfortable silences returned and Robin swallowed a little more of her water, feeling the painkillers start to kick in.

“Speed bumps,” Strike suddenly announced.  
Robin cast him a perplexed glare, “What about them?”  
“They’re like headache and indigestion tablets….what we actually mean is an anti-speed bump. The whole purpose is that they slow you down, not speed you up!” he explained and saw her nodding thoughtfully.

“And Treacle Tart,” she added, sighing softly and turning her attention to the vehicle controls as the lights of cars ahead told her they were finally on the move.

“Treacle tart?” Strike queried.

Robin manoeuvred the vehicle adeptly sucking in her cheeks and moistening her lips with her tongue, “Yeah….we call it treacle, but actually, it’s syrup.”

Strike opened and closed his mouth, he was frequently amazed at the way Robin’s brain worked….mostly he followed her train of thought, but just occasionally she made a mental left turn that rendered him speechless.

“I like treacle tart,” she stated, smiling gently ahead.  
Strike nodded beside her, “Me too….with loads of hot custard.”  
“Mmmmm, or, the tart hot, but a dollop of cold ice cream,” Robin’s eyes were now widening as she used her driving mirrors.

Strike made a deep, throaty growl, “I wouldn’t feed that to a pig….ethical or not, the pig’d have to fight me for it!”

Robin smirked, it had become a frequent topic thrown into their discussions since they’d considered feeding Frazzles to a pig.

“Lard!” Robin stated, “In the pastry. Cannibal pig!”

Strike pressed his lips together and shook his head, “Told you, not an issue, ‘cos the pig ain’t getting any of it. Your headache gone?”

Robin nodded, “Yeah…..we really do have the BEST conversations you know,” she grinned.  
Strike nodded and stole a gulp from her bottle of water, “We do…….the absolute BEST!”


	7. The best nut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is from a prompt form RobinLeStrange  
My Google search history is now 'quirky' to say the least!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should also add that the idea of the 'teeny, tiny epipen' first came out of one of LulaIsAKitten and myself's London squee sessions. A tiny mouse joined us on our terrace and Lula left nuts which he kept stealing without us seeing. At around 2am after several bottles of wine (Lula) and most of a bottle of Baileys (me!) the idea of a mouse with a nut allergy needing a teeny, tiny epipen seemed hilarious and I must have scribbled it in my writing ideas book. The following morning I tried to make sense of it and thought.....that's going in a fic somewhere!!!! And lo...here it is!

Strike crumpled up the empty wrapper from his Snickers, Robin was still nibbling on one of the Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups from her small pack.  
“I can’t believe you can get these here now!” she smiled, enjoying how the chocolate clagged up her mouth in that thick, peanut butter kind of way.  
Cormoran grunted happily, pleased that he’d spotted the box in the small supermarket and remembered Robin waxing lyrical about eating her way through packs of them when she was in Florida as a teenager with her family.

“It’s the humble peanut……the king of nuts!” he announced, sniffing and trying to convince himself that he didn’t want to break open the packet of M&Ms that he’d also picked up for their mid afternoon surveillance snack when he’d arrived to relieve Robin of the boring duty.

Robin rolled her tongue around inside her mouth and drooled slightly, “Is the peanut the BEST nut then?”

Strike was momentarily distracted from the tempting colourful packet on the dashboard, “Well, it’s certainly up there. Depends on the definition of ‘best’,” and he added air quotes for clarification.

Robin swallowed her mouthful of chocolatey goop, “Just…..’best’….,” she stated as if repeating the word alone was further evidence to back up her statement.

“Yeah, but think about watches,” Cormoran replied.

Robin cast him a perplexed glare, “I’m gonna need more, Ironside….hang on, that’s the one I mean isn’t it; not Columbo?”

Strike narrowed his eyes and crumpled his brow, “Well, one’s a cripple the other has a long coat….technically they both work!”

“So……watches? Nuts? What’s the link?”

“If you think about the ‘best’ watches, they are rare and very expensive….so if you use that logic the best nut should be rare….maybe brazils, or expensive, so macadamias,” he explained.

Robin pouted her lips together and nodded at his irrefutable logic, “You’re right….although, ‘best’ could mean most useful! In which case….maybe almonds? They’re dead good for your brain and have got loads of vitamin E in them….good for your skin!”  
Strike couldn’t help casting a quick glance across his co-worker’s perfect, peaches and cream complexion.

He nodded, “All depends on what use you need though…..the term useful is relative. I mean, our old friend the brazil nut is what you want for battling cancer, but if you can’t sleep a walnut is your best friend!”

Robin cast Strike an impressed nod, “Blimey! How come you’re the nut specialist?”  
He sniffed, “Once spent a very long flight with an autistic boy and his exhausted grandmother. Nuts were his obsession…..I learned a lot!”

Silence filled the interior of the car again and Strike’s focus was once more drawn to the packet of candy covered peanuts. If he ate them now he’d have nothing left for later when it got really boring…..once Robin had left.

“Can you imagine if a squirrel had a nut allergy?” Robin mused softly.

Strike raised his eyebrows fractionally, considering her concept.  
“I’ve never seen one with Mick Jagger lips tackling an acorn though!” he replied.

Robin nodded alongside him.  
“That reminds me, I need fabric conditioner,” she added.

Strike shot her a perplexed glare, “Why does Mick Jagger make you think of that?” he asked.  
“That video, Dancing in the Street….he’s wearing a shirt that looks like it’s come out of the washing machine without having fabric conditioner in…..it’s wrinkled to hell….,” she explained as if her oddly connected logic made perfect sense.  
“Oh! I thought it was just ‘cos of his wrinkled face,” Cormoran stated.

Their comfortable silence continued for several minutes.

“A squirrel could have a teeny, tiny Epipen,” Robin mused.

Strike nodded before realising what he was unconsciously agreeing to in the conversation.  
Like many things that they chatted about in this way he sort of couldn’t stop himself from considering it further.

“I suppose they’ve got quite dexterous digits…..they can manipulate acorns pretty well….should be able to administer it no problem,” he voiced.  
Robin cast him an aghast glance.

“Cormoran! Don’t be ridiculous!” she grinned.  
Strike wrinkled his nose and chuckled back at her as she continued.  
“It’d be pointless unless they carried it all the time….and they don’t have pockets!” she stated calmly. “Right, I’m off. I’ll see you back at the office later. Give me a call and I’ll have the kettle on.”

Strike stifled his desire to hug her and tell her he thought she was ‘as mad as a box of frogs’, what he said instead was, “Ellacott, we have the BEST conversations!”  
She smiled, “We do! We really do!”


	8. Ketchup or Brown sauce?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another fabulous prompt from RobinLeStrange.  
Personally I'm a no sauce kind of gal.....although chips with béarnaise sauce is a guilty pleasure!!  
I think brown Sauce, or HP Sauce is a generic, worldwide thing!  
.....and the concept of Strike/Tom Burke sucking egg yolk off his thumb did make me have to lie down for a while!!!!!

“If you could only have tomato ketchup OR brown sauce for the rest of your life….which would you give up?” Robin asked Strike as they demolished bacon and egg sandwiches from a roadside ‘greasy spoon’ trailer.

They’d been questioning a potential new client who insisted they visit him at his weekend retreat, so they’d been on the road for what felt like hours.  
A resonant, rumbling groan seeped out from her bulky partner as he macerated hot pig and bread between his teeth.

“Blimey! Give me an easier one!” he sniffed, cramming a second, mammoth bite into his mouth.

Robin ate her fried egg roll with more restraint; mainly because she knew the yolk hadn’t yet popped and when it did it would dribble.

“Whichever one I gave up I’d have to be prepared to give up key foods that accompany it!” Strike added, sucking on his thumb to add runny egg to his mouth and sighing in delight.

Robin sniggered slightly, “Isn’t the sauce supposed to be the accompaniment to the food rather than the other way round?”

Strike quirked his eyebrows, “You say that! But, there are just some foods that demand ketchup….fish and chips for example. So, if I gave up ketchup by definition I’d also have to give up fish and chips….. and I can’t imagine a trip to the seaside without that as a treat….so that means also giving up visits to the seaside!”

“Oh wow! I hadn’t thought about that!” she said, licking at the runny egg yolk she’d reached in her roll.

Strike was too hungry and too busy moving onto his second roll to spend more than a brief second considering whether the sight of his amber haired work colleague lapping her tongue into a soft, fried egg was one of the sexist views on earth.

“However, “he added, “If I had to give up brown sauce I’d have to give up sausages…..and pies…and hotpots…and pasties….and they are invariably a fall back at any football match or pub. So, if I’d have to give up both of those,” he shuddered.  
“I think we both know that won’t happen!” Robin quipped, chuckling as Strike continued to twitch slightly beside her.

They ate in relative silence except for the odd noises associated with pleasant, greasy calorie intake.

“Could I do 6 months off alternately?” Strike asked as he finished his final bite and rubbed the grease from his fingers on a woefully inadequate, small piece of single ply tissue.  
Robin was sipping her paper cup of tea, “How would that work?”

Strike used his still slightly sticky hand to gesture as he clarified for her, “Well, I wouldn’t be bothered about going to the seaside in winter, so from say October to the end of March I could give up ketchup….which means I’d have brown sauce available for the colder months….let’s call them ‘The Pie Months.”

Robin gave him an impressed nod, “OK, so then swap over from April to the end of September to ketchup so you can go to the beach! Cool…I like it!”

“Shall we make it law?” he asked taking a sip from his tea and grimacing at it’s weakness.

“Definitely! Come on, let’s get back on the road and find somewhere for me to pee,” she stated, stamping her feet a little and disposing of their rubbish in a bin bag hanging from the counter of the cabin.

Strike nodded, smugly pleased with his ability to solve all manner of complex and demanding issues.

“We have the BEST conversations,” he stated, lighting up a cigarette as they walked back along the layby to the BMW.  
Robin nodded and grinned, “We really do….we’re such a great team!”


	9. ruthless....or Ruthless ?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A word play one again, based on a few different ideas - the whelmed one is from a Graham Norton which starred Rosamund Pike and Chris Martin.  
The idea of Strike sucking on a Chuppa Chup (generic hard lollipop in case that doesn't travel) is just delectable to me...and also makes me giggle at the Kojak, fellow detective, link.

“How come you can be overwhelmed, or underwhelmed, but you can never just be…whelmed?” Strike stated absently as he filled in letters on his crossword and tapped the end of his pen against his forehead as his lips mumbled in contemplation of 8 across.

Robin was rolling her tongue around the reducing diameter of a cherry flavoured lollipop beside him in the BMW, staring at the deserted alleyway they were keeping under observation, so far with no luck.

“Did you get one for me?” he asked, eyeing the small white stick in her mouth….he was trying to cut back on the fags as he got over a chesty cough.  
Robin smirked and waggled two choices in his direction, he opted for the chocolate and vanilla version and popped it into the side of his mouth before continuing with his lecture.

“And there’s dismantle….you can’t mantle something.”

Robin was only dimly listening to him, she was actually trying not to stare openly at her work colleague as his lips moved rather delectably around the lucky, lucky blob of flavoured sugar attached to the little white stick.  
He removed it momentarily and used it to make his next point in the air, “And then there’s chalk and cheese…I mean, are they really any more different than say….a pen and a….comet?”

Robin frowned and pouted as she twisted slightly in her seat and regarded him, “I see what you mean…I mean, they’re even sort of the same colour, so not different at all.”

Cormoran popped the Chuppa Chup back into his cheek and nodded, “Exactly!”

“Although snooker chalk isn’t cheese coloured,” she stated.

“….you can get some pretty veiny Stilton…..pretty similar colour,” he suggested.

They both made small grunts of agreement, and silence pervaded once more as Strike had a breakthrough and was able to add several more answers to his puzzle, and Robin got down to crunching through the final part of her lolly.

“What about ruthless?” she stated.

Cormoran momentarily looked blankly back at his work colleague as he crunched the last bit off his lollipop stick.

“What?” he asked, still drawing a blank as he tried to go through sonnet IX by Pablo Neruda to locate the 99th word…..it depended on whether ‘sea-circle’ was classed as 1 or 2 words?  
He peered closely at the letters he already had placed, “Hmmm…..tenderness,” he mumbled, his gaze still on Robin.

Robin ignored the brief softening of his eyes and somewhat random choice of word….she assumed it was because of the thrill of getting another answer on his crossword and continued with her train of thought.

“Ruthless…..I mean, you can be a ruthless person, but what if you’ve got ‘ruth’….I mean, what is ruth?” she stated, quirking her eyebrows.

Strike blinked and tapped into the sounds emanating from between her pouting and frankly delicious looking lips.  
“Was she not in the bible….Ruth?” he stated, narrowing his gaze as he looked ahead and pointed to the alleyway, making Robin pick up her phone and start recording the activity they could see.

A few moments later the alleyway was deserted again and the pair were reviewing their footage, heads bent close together over the small monitor.  
It looked promising, based on Strike’s happy grunt anyway!

They started to pack away the odd collection of ‘stuff’ they’d accumulated as they’d sat and waited.  
Strike checked she was ready to go before starting the engine and reversing the BMW into the flow of traffic, throwing a quick raised hand up to the driver behind.

“I think she might have been in the bible,” Robin stated, “Ruth and Naomi….was she a Moab?”

“No idea!” he sniffed and flicked the indicator, pulling across to join the right filter lane as his mind drifted back to their origin of the word ruthless conversation.

“But I don’t reckon it’s anything to do with her” Robin continued, narrowing her gaze.

Strike removed his left hand from the steering wheel , the tips of his right fingers resting lightly on it as they waited for the lights to change, “I’m assuming you have a theory,” he stated, glancing across at her thoughtful, pouting face.

“You don’t write ruthless with a capital R….if it was because of the woman from the bible surely we’d have to write it with one,” she answered, giving him a smug, almost ‘fait accompli’ smile.

He grinned as the green light showed and he manoeuvred the car through the streets once more, “So…it remains a mystery!”

“We have the best conversations though!” she sniggered beside him.  
He shook his head and chuckled softly in his chest, “We absolutely do….the BEST!”


	10. The evility of spiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lula and I really shouldn't start up conversations at midnight!  
But then again, when we do stuff like this happens!!

“Do you think spiders are evil, or do they just look it?” Robin wrinkled her nose as she regarded a fat, speckle-bellied spider that had wandered into her line of sight – albeit on the other side of the Land Rover window.  
Strike glanced across, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth to dislodge the remnants of a caramel toffee, “What’s wrong with spiders? Unless you happen to be in Australia of course!”

Robin’s gaze was firmly on the spider that was making it’s way along the broad leaves of, possibly a rhododendron.

“They’re fine outside….I just don’t want them in my flat. They scuttle! Scuttling implies evil!” she shuddered and slow blinked at Strike’s amused smirk.

“They don’t scuttle, they just have 8 limbs to manoeuvre….it must be complicated,” he suggested, glancing across at the concealed doorway where there had been no activity for the past hour or so.

Robin pursed her mouth and made a gagging sound, “They do scuttle,” she mumbled before returning to her usual voice and volume, “and anyway, they’re like the symbol of Halloween and witches and stuff….definite evility!”

“You’ve made that one up!” Cormoran sniggered slightly, “and I don’t think they chose to be linked to a manufactured celebration of an ancient Celtic festival!”

“Their webs are beautiful…..I could cope with them staying in their webs,” she continued, regarding the amazing structure being created slowly and methodically, suspended across the leaves and branches of the bush.

“So, what?.......spiders per se are fine, but they need to remain immobile…..so what you want is a sort of spider taser type thing so you could stun it, then whack it with a copy of Cosmopolitan,” he suggested, narrowing his eyes as the door they were watching opened, but only a male employee came out taking bags to the refuse bin.

Robin cast him an outraged and suddenly serious look, “Oh no! I couldn’t kill one!”

Strike grinned, of course; his gorgeous, soft hearted but deadly partner couldn’t kill a spider, even if she did hate them!  
He smiled wistfully, but the expression changed to brow raised adoration as she continued.

“I’d be scared I’d only maim and anger it!” 

“You’d anger a spider? What exactly would that make it do?” he asked, knowing that whatever her response was it would both amuse him and make him reconsider his own thoughts.

“Well…..it might go and get all it’s friends and come back…..or crawl across my face in the night….or……bite my bum!” she was giggling by the time she got to the final suggestion.

“None of which would be the worst thing in the world!” Strike sniggered back at her.

Silence came over the vehicle as there was movement around the doorway.   
Cormoran lifted his mobile phone and began recording the activity, then reviewed it before screwing up his face and shaking his head at Robin’s expectant expression.  
“Nah…..not clear enough. They went back in though, so maybe…..we’ll give it another hour,” he stated, shifting his position in the vehicle.

“Actually your idea of a spider stun gun would be ace! Give you time to go find a glass, open the window….get everything prepared,” she was nodding as though running through the sequence of events in her head.

Strike took a fraction of a second to catch back up with her meandering train of though “Oh, fair enough….catch and release it. I take it you favour the glass and envelope method?” he queried.

“Envelope is good; but I like those cardboard things you get through the post telling you about 20% off sales….thin enough but strong enough not to buckle! What about you?” she explained and asked.

Strike nodded thoughtfully and waggled his large palm at her, “Pick it up! Easier!”

“Hmmmm, why does that not surprise me!” she smiled, mentally slapping herself for recognising a slight tingle between her thighs at his ridiculous masculinity….being a feminist was really hard when your daily companion was so alpha male it was a crime!

“I’ll get working on a prototype of the spider stun gun,” he growled, shuffling down in his seat a little further and pulling up the collar of his massive overcoat.

Robin smiled twice; first at the almost perfectly completed and intricate spider’s web to her left, and secondly at the almost recumbent form of Strike to her right.  
“We have the best conversations when we’re on surveillance,” she stated.

He inhaled slowly and deeply before replying, “We certainly do…..the BEST!”


	11. Would martians wear Christmas cracker hats?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I rediscovered my list of prompts and scribbled notes to these and having written a few little drabbles for the Boxing Day ficlet thing; plus we're starting to decide on Christmas production dates at work, so I felt a little festive.  
I reckon Robin's brain might toy around with ideas like this randomly, regardless of the time of year....which I really do think would amuse Strike!.  
this one is from an suggestion by ChillyHollow :)

“Do you think martians would understand the concept of Christmas cracker hats?” Robin asked as she bit down absently on the third chocolate finger she’d taken from the packet resting on the edge of her desk.  
She’d dunked it in her tea, of course, and managed to get the chocolate to that delicious ‘clinging to the actual biscuit by the skin of it’s teeth liquidness’ before she’d taken a bite and was now considering whether it was worth trying to emulate it with a fourth biscuit.

Strike glanced over, trying not to focus on the remnants of ‘chocolate lipstick’ his work colleague was sporting and imagine how delectable it would be to lick it from her mouth.  
“That implies firstly that I believe in the existence of martians,” he stated, quirking his eyes into that look of amused sarcasm that always made Robin’s stomach go a bit twitchy.

“Don’t you? Don’t you think there must be something, somewhere out there on some planet that we have yet to discover?” she asked, deciding that the conversation would curb her further desire for melted chocolate biscuits.

Cormoran was sprawled across the sofa in the office; both of them were waiting for a call from Wardle, or Ekwensi regarding a lead they had handed over. Hopefully their information would ensure the wrong person didn’t take the blame.

“I suppose I want to believe in the possibility of something out there…..BUT,” and he lifted his index finger without altering the position of any other part of his body [he and the sofa had reached an understanding; in that if he remained absolutely immobile it wouldn’t emit it’s tortuous noises…..it enabled him to be purposefully inactive, which suited him fine!] “The second implication to your statement is that these martians have heads!”

Robin considered what he’d said, cupping her hands around her mug and sipping at the tea, “Not necessarily! I didn’t say would they wear them, just would they understand the idea of them…..sort of point and say, ‘Oh, cracker hat, nice!’”

Strike angled his neck fractionally and sniggered as Robin adopted a far away, ‘role play’ expression and for some reason a slightly Russian accent.

“Why are your martians Russian? And also if they can point, presumably they have hands, and fingers!” he added.

“Oh for God’s sake!” she grumbled, good naturedly, “I am trying to ascertain whether Christmas cracker hats as a concept ‘travel’…..you know? Show people a folded piece of pointy tissue paper and they stick it on their head…..would a martian understand that?”

Cormoran sniffed, “I’m not sure I understand it actually! I mean, why do we sit around with bits of flammable coloured paper on our heads?......and they never fit,” he mumbled the last statement a little petulantly.

Robin couldn’t prevent herself chuckling at him, “It’s your own fault for having such lustrous curls!” and she allowed herself a minute to gaze at the said tousled collection of soft, dark hair he was now splaying his hand through.

“Rubbish! They never fit when I was in the army with a buzz cut either!” he quipped, but smirked.

“Maybe martians would need to understand weather to understand hats….I mean, we wear them in extremes don’t we – cold weather, woolly hat, hot weather bikini and floppy sun hat,” she considered.  
Strike stifled a glazed-eyed whimper at the thought of Robin wearing the bikini and wide-brimmed sunhat he’d briefly seen on one of Ilsa’s phone images after the pair had spent a weekend at Brighton in the height of summer, (Nick’s work commitments meaning he couldn’t accompany his wife.)

“That doesn’t account for cracker hats though – hole in the top so bloody useless for both keeping warm and shade!” and he pursed his mouth whilst nodding [Robin now called this his ‘so there!’ look.]

“OK, so……let’s assume that martians wouldn’t understand the concept of cracker hats……how would you explain it to them?” Robin asked, arching her eyebrows as she considered her own question.

Over on the sofa Strike shrugged both shoulders and gave an expressive but impassive twist of his lips.  
Robin gave it a second.  
“Well? How would you do it?” she repeated.  
“Like that!” and he repeated his shrug and expression of bemusement, making Robin wrinkle her nose and laugh outloud. 

He loved it when he made her laugh.   
He loved knowing that he was responsible for her joy, her happiness, even if only for a few seconds.   
He looked at her with that warm, crinkle-eyed smile.

“Are you actually admitting that there are some things you are happy to not know the answer to?” she asked, still giggling as she drained her tea and pulled a slight face at the biscuit sludge in the bottom.  
“There are many things I am happy to remain oblivious to; and martians’ ability to comprehend pointless tissue paper crowns is one of them,” he sighed as he hauled himself up on the sofa, grateful for once that the piece of furniture remained silent, other than emitting a few creaks.

“I think they’d like them,” Robin said sweetly, “They might not understand them….but I reckon they’d love the idea!”

He shook his head softly….of course Robin would think that.   
She was one of the most logical and diligent people he’d ever met; she could cut through the crap on a statement and find the errors like a computer program; but of course she would believe that martians would love getting into the festive spirit with a piece of crinkly paper on their heads!

“Well, if I ever bump into one I’ll ask on your behalf!” he glanced at his watch. It was way after 5 now, he was beginning to wonder if anything would happen today when the phone rang.  
Robin picked up and answered with her usual greeting, “The offices of Cormoran Strike and Robin Ellacott, how can I help?”  
Her eyes instantly sparkled, and her mouth curved into a wide beaming smile as she waved her hand at Strike [as if she needed to gain his attention….didn’t she realise that his eyes were always on her?]  
“That’s great news Vanessa. Thanks…..yep, let us know tomorrow. Cheers,” and she put down the receiver.

“I assume good result?” Cormoran asked positively.  
Robin beamed back at him, “You assume correctly! Vanessa just popped out to let us know, they’re all back in relooking at statements and stuff so she’ll give us the details tomorrow.”  
“Marvellous….right….pub?” he asked, hopefully.

Robin considered the time. 

Did she want to go home to her tiny flatshare and an evening of watching celebrities eat weird insects; or celebrities going on dates; or celebrities trying to dance whilst sat on her sofa in her pjs…..or did she want to trek in the cold to a slightly sticky carpeted pub where she would no doubt end up eating chips off Cormoran’s plate whilst drinking her way through several glasses of white wine which would throw her healthy eating plan out for the day.

She noticed the almost empty packet of chocolate fingers as Strike swiped up and devoured another couple.

Sod it…the diet was screwed!

“You’re on,” she nodded and got up to gather her scarf and jacket. “And I expect chips!”

Strike grinned and cleared his throat to prevent a happy grunt becoming too obvious.  
“Paper hat wearing martians….honestly Ellacott, we have the BEST conversations!” he swiped up his cigarettes and matches, stuffing them into his cavernous overcoat pocket as he opened the door to the office and ushered Robin through.  
“We do. We really do!” she grinned.


	12. Is it a sign of old age?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's back!!!!! I KNOW!!!!  
I couldn't believe how long ago I updated this one, but after mine and Lula's non-starter meet up to watch Andrew Scott in Three Kings (get well soon Andrew) we came up with this slightly barmy idea and it seemed to fit into this series.  
So in this episode they are watching some video footage linked to a case and obviously they both get sidetracked by other things!  
This one has a bit of canon Strike-esque language and the case is relating to stealthing - hence changing the rating to M as it was Teen and up before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that Strike doesn't come across as too much of a perve - the idea is based in canon - when he says he really fancies that skin on skin thai massage! - but he is able to compartmentalise what he's doing - in this he is doing similar - he notices everything of course, but isn't really perving over their client.....it is the proximity of Robin that is knocking his equilibrium out of whack!

Having spent the day on their own cases and activities, Cormoran and Robin were now the only ones left in the office; it was way after 7 o’clock and they had devoured a shared portion of fried rice with prawns and crispy duck with pancakes from their favoured chinese take away.  
They were now sat side by side on the new, non-farting leather sofa; their sides touching and Strike leaning fractionally towards the laptop balanced on Robin’s thighs.

They were part way through a recording of their newest client participating in full sex across a desk in what they knew to be the conference room of her office.  
The client was alleging stealthing by the male involved and after some sweet talking of the security guard - by Strike; the said security guy had turned out to be gay and apparently had a thing for ‘bears’ - they’d procured the recording of the party, which the client had stated was when the event occurred.  
She’d had no notion of the recording existing, but had agreed for the pair of detectives to watch and use it having first taken a look herself.

There had been some office celebration event and after shifting through a long section of the recording they had given knowing grunts upon seeing that only the client and the alleged ‘Knobhead’ remained.  
Thankfully what they’d observed so far matched the information the client had provided - she had been a fully willing and even encouraging sexual partner and was in no way claiming rape or assault, she however had felt instinctively that there had been some of his bodily fluids within her afterwards.  
Having confronted him he’d said that presumably the condom had split, but that he would be happy to purchase any aftercare medications she needed, which had taken place, and a subsequent test had shown that she had no other nasties lurking behind from the encounter.

Initially the client had been satisfied with this account, but had since discovered a similar situation had occurred with other women in the office, and knowing how recent her own incident had taken place wanted to see if there was any evidence she could use against him and to prevent it happening if he was a serial ‘stealther’.

“What the hell can he be getting out of it?” Robin had wondered.

Strike had made a disparaging harrumph, “Power! Him feeling like he’s in charge and in control….even in so far as afterwards when he is responsible for funding the morning after pill. Twat!”

They had watched the short and passionate build up - clothes being shed and cast aside, lots of hair pulling, neck biting and wrangling each other towards the desk.  
Strike had noted with some annoyance that the man involved was handsome in the traditional sense; smooth chested and chisel jawed - the resemblance to Matthew wasn’t lost on him.  
Robin had been ridiculously aware of how close she was sitting next to Cormoran as they watched.   
She’d also noticed that their client was incredibly attractive - no wonder she had no problems with them watching this…..there wasn’t a speck of cellulite visible on her thighs as they were wrapped around the hips of Knobhead.

They had no sound on the recording - probably wise - but it was clear that a discussion took place and our prince moved back, trousers at his knees in order to rummage in his jacket and extract a condom.  
In moving thusly his rather impressive erection was made completely visible, and to Robin’s squealed surprise she saw Strike’s hand hover on the touchscreen, zooming in on his…..appendage!

“Ruddy hell! I’m not sure about whipping it off….how the hell does he get a condom on?” Robin exclaimed, tilting her head slightly and quickly rectifying her gaze.

Strike was looking nonplussed, “Durex make ‘em in XL.”

This piece of information was delivered so matter of factly that Robin wasn’t sure how to respond.  
How did he know?  
Was it just a man thing?  
Like knowing that tampons come in Super heavy as a female…...even if you don’t NEED anything more than regular?  
She couldn’t stop herself glancing at Strike’s groin area though.

Cormoran bit his lip and hoped that Robin wouldn’t glance at his face - he was certain he was blushing despite trying to maintain the most professional disposition possible given that he was cuddled up with his amber haired fantasy woman watching some of the hottest onscreen porn he’d indulged in in a while.

Their client had wrangled her tights down and off one leg, leaving them and her knickers dangling from her ankle - again matching exactly her information from prior to knowing of the tape’s existence.  
“They never show you those bits in the movies do they?” Strike stated, clearing his throat and indicating her dislodged clothing.

Robin chuckled, “Hmmmm, I don’t suppose in the movies they can show quite this much!” and her eyebrows rose quite sharply as it became clear that Knobhead had just entered their client.

Strike’s own eyebrows were arched in an attempt to blend in with his hairline, “Absolutely!” he stated, wrinkling his lips into a beguiling pout as he tried to concentrate on the hands of Knobhead, “You keep an eye on the left, I’ll watch the right,” he said.

Robin had been slightly mesmerised by the unashamed movement from their clients’ clearly enhanced breasts and cast Strike a shocked glare.  
He paused the screen and looked at her, “What?” he asked. “If we watch one hand each we’ll see won’t we?”

Robin hastily inhaled and nodded, praying that the flush to her chest wouldn’t make it to her cheeks.  
It did!

Strike unpaused the action and forced his gaze to remain on Knobhead’s right hand which was clutching at their client’s hip. He couldn’t help but think that the way she was undulating her chest towards him it was obvious that she needed a little more stimulation; although it was also obvious to his eyes that her breasts were fake - they had the almost circular solidity to them which he himself found rather off putting.

They watched as his hips set a rather punishing, and to Strike’s view selfish, pace.  
“OK, now she’s faking,” Robin stated as she watched the Knobhead’s left hand move to clutch at the desk top, “She told us she did.”  
Strike nodded in agreement.  
“Do you think he knows? He’s not slowing down,” she added.

Beside her Strike gave a low growl, “He’ll know….or at least he should, unless he’s never given anyone a proper one!”

Again the statements were delivered without any bravado and made Robin grin and flutter a bit in spite of her defiant attitude that she and Strike should never indulge in any of the beast with 2 backs action.

“Oooh, pause, in fact go back,” Robin ordered and tapped Strike’s hand for emphasis.  
He obeyed and after watching, zooming in and rewinding the recording several times finally met each other’s gazes and gave joint noises of “Ooooooohhhhh!” Robin’s followed by “The bugger!”, Strikes’ by the more bleep worthy “The fucking bellend!”

Robin hadn’t spotted the exact moment Knobhead had removed the condom, but it was clearly dangling between his fingers against the desk as they continued to have sex.  
Strike also noted with some annoyance that the complete twat was now displaying a very different face was he fucked his co-worker.   
It was one which he would dearly have loved to punch from his face!

They watched to the end of the recording - just to make sure that the client hadn’t missed something vital - like an acknowledgement from him regarding the condom. Although he’d clearly tried to make out that he was removing it before ending the encounter and redressing himself partially out of shot.  
They watched until they saw their client wave and mouth something, which again matched with her account.

Strike then paused the image on the screen and flopped back against the sofa.  
“Right. Grab your notepad, we need to rewatch it all and make a note of the time frames. Up for it?” he asked.

Robin inhaled, slid the laptop across to Strike and stretched across to her desk without actually leaving the settee, inadvertently giving Cormoran a view of her delectable backside which coming so swiftly after the images on screen was giving his equilibrium a serious nudge, and he adjusted the position of the laptop carefully as she sat back down with her notepad and pen poised.  
“OK; let’s do this!” she grinned.

They scrolled past the preliminaries, and after noting the time of the recording when it was clear the actual passionate adventure began watched in 2X speed in order to get to the point of ‘condom locating’, ‘condom placement’ and ‘start of actual intercourse’ - the headings of which seemed ridiculously sweet when written in Robin’s loopy handwriting in her purple inked biro.

Strike’s eyes roved across the screen and hovered at the partially emptied buffet table.  
“I could murder a piece of that cake!” he murmured, eyeballing what looked like a triple tiered chocolate affair which had been cut into at the end of the table.

Robin looked at him and followed his gaze, wrinkling her nose briefly, “There’s too much icing,” she stated, narrowing her gaze and noting down the time on the recording when it was clear that the condom was no longer attached to Knobhead’s knob.

“No such thing!” Strike almost shouted, “That’s the best bit!”

Robin shook her head, “Nah, the cake to frosting ratio’s all off….although the flaked chocolate bits round the edge might balance it out.”

Strike looked perplexed, “How can MORE chocolate balance out chocolate?”

“Because it’s dark chocolate round the edge,” Robin stated, as if it was the most obvious statement in the world!  
Strike decided against further clarification, convinced that whatever argument she had would be either brilliant or barmy!  
"Is it a sign of old age to find cake more appealing than sex?" he mumbled instead.

"Much less risk of pulling a muscle eating cake.....unless it's one of my sister in law's scones," Robin added without animosity.  
They continued watching the scene unfold.

Beside him Robin sighed, “She’s never gonna get those tights back on without laddering them,” she mused, leaning to retrieve a mug from her desk and gulp down slightly cold tea.  
“She stuffed ‘em in her bag I think,” Strike stated, his almost photographic memory flicking into action.

Cormoran lifted a palm as Robin gave a conciliatory groan a few moments later as her colleague was proved correct.

“Just let me watch that bit again,” he stated, checking the time Robin had noted down, wanting to watch the muffled shots again to see if it was distinct the exact moment the git had removed the sheath.  
It was unclear, but he left the slightly zoomed in image playing out on the screen.

“We could do that,” Robin stated briskly, sipping again from her mug and tipping her head on one side.

Strike’s body tensed beside hers and he willed his voice to sound calm,  
“Could we?” he asked, licking across his lower lip and willing the laptop to remain in place as his body reacted somewhat basally to the idea of him and Robin going at it like sex starved animals in his office - why his office? He’d question that streak of misogyny later on….alone!

Robin purred and nodded, he could feel her shoulders move slightly and noticed that her head was tilted on one side.   
He mimicked her pose and stared at the screen - Knobhead and client were pretty much banging away rather unoriginally…..it was at the faking stage of proceedings.

“It’d stop you keep tripping over it,” she added, sniffing and glancing sideways, feeling his eyes upon her. “What?”

“I think I might not be on the same page,” he stated honestly.

Robin indicated the screen, “The power cable…..see how they’ve got it going under the carpet there….there…..there….oh for god’s sake pause it when he’s thrusting in!”

Strike sniggered as she pointed and spoke, timing her instructions to the rhythm of Knobhead’s hips.

“Ellacott, you never cease to amaze me!” he grinned, curling his lips into what she still refused to tell him was the sexiest sight imaginable. “We have the best conversations!” he added.

Robin nodded back at him, “We do! We really do! Tea?”

“Perfect….and I think I’ll have a fag!”


	13. What do you call yours?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains lots of terminology for genitalia - I'm not particularly prudish, but some of the terms are a bit on the vulgar side....but they are in keeping with the general discussion!  
RobinLeStrange sent me a Tumble post which has a hilarious discussion about 'middle aged terms for genitalia' which spawned one 'in a relationship' fic and also this more amusing one.  
It is the vaguest of scenarios, but I could actually semi-seriously see the pair of them discussing something like this!

“Can I ask you something that’s a bit…….unusual?” Strike was picking the remnants of a packet of cheese and onion crisps from his back molar with his thumb nail as Robin, beside him in the BMW sucked delightedly on the straw of her iced vanilla latte.

“Of course you can. Unless it’s to do with motor racing...I don’t understand anything at all about that sport!” she stated, poking at a piece of ice and sucking again on her drink.

Strike pursed his lips and inhaled as he spoke, “Do you think that there are age limits linked to names for……..well, for…..genitalia?”

Robin allowed the straw to drop from her mouth, which retained its small ‘o’ shape and twisted her head to face him.  
“What?” she asked softly.

He shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, “Jack and his brothers….but mainly Jack….they were larking about, and you know, getting rough like brothers do, and Jack got a kick….. and Lucy…..well, she told him to go into the bathroom and have a look at…..”

Robin filled in what she assumed was the blank, “his junk?”

“Exactly! So….’junk’ would have been what I would consider an age appropriate term given Jack’s age,” he shook his head, “But Lucy called it…..his winky!”  
Robin pressed her lips together at his facial expression to stifle her giggle.

He turned again to face her this time, “Winky! It’s not…..well, it’s a little boy name for it isn’t it?!”

Robin considered and wrinkled her nose, “I suppose so….was Adam there though? He’s younger, I suppose you’ve got to use a word that they all understand, I mean she can’t exactly tell him to go and check out his…..his….” she puffed out her cheeks in mild embarrassment.

“His what?....I mean what would be inappropriate? I’m asking because I don’t want to plough in and refer to parts of Jack’s anatomy in front of him that get me in trouble...I mean, I’m not gonna call it is purple love python….but what is OK?” Strike asked, smirking and making Robin feel more comfortable instantly about the topic.

She gave a chuckle, “Ok, so pythons, purple or otherwise are out…..same goes for love truncheon, dude piston, pork steeple, spam javelin and trouser otter,” these terms seemed to trip from Robin’s tongue very easily, and Strike was rendered rather bemused but awestruck at her candid and seemingly quite serious attempt at discussion.

She sniffed and glanced across at him, “What do you call yours?”

Strike was quite taken aback at her bluntness, “Cock…...and balls of course.”

“Oh yeah, you’ve got more to name down there than us I suppose….be thankful they’re all boys!” she giggled, sucking again on her latte.

“Bloody hell! Thank Christ I don’t have that to consider!….although same principle...I mean, I don’t suppose under 8 girls refer to their nether regions as their cunt!” he asked, semi serious as it wasn’t something he’d ever considered before, but was now intrigued.

Robin gave startled eyes beside him, “Definitely not! Infact most women don’t refer to their under carriage using that rather salubrious term!”

He pouted his lower lip, “Why not? It’s one of the oldest terms for….that,” he indicated his partner’s lap vaguely, “Although I suppose it is still one of those shock words!”

Robin nodded, “I know! I’ve seen The Vagina Monologues, I know I should reclaim cunt…..it just doesn’t feel right referring to it…..although, I suppose in the right circumstances…” she blushed slightly and licked her lips, wrinkling her nose as she felt Strike’s arched eyebrow stare directed towards her.

“And the right circumstances would be?.......when exactly?” he asked.

“Well, definitely not in front of 8 year olds, or any of your nephews! But…..well…..I suppose it’s the opposite of this conversation. There are some names and words that are just instantly not sexy, and others that…...work.” She shrugged and pursed her lips.

Strike nodded beside her, “Right! OK, so cunt and cock are bed words…..what about knob, or…..fanny?”

Robin winced, “Cunt, cock….pussy...prick all good sexy wise. Willy, thingie, growler, piss flaps and clunge no….instant pyjama bottoms staying on!”

“Good to know!” Cormoran nodded.   
He cracked open his can of full-fat Coke and took a sip before gently burping, “Snatch?” he asked.

Robin shook her head, “Nah...too porny. Same as beaver.”

Strike committed the information to memory and drunk more Coke before rummaging in the door pocket and locating the Dairy Milk he’d purchased for himself. “What about chuff or…...tuppence?”

Robin shrugged non-commitally, “Todger?” she tried.

Strike gave a “Hmmmm,” of vague approval, “Lady garden? Mrs Fubbs’ Pantry?” he was grinning now.

Robin sniggered this time, “What in a sexy, bed type situation? No way!....in fact not even for the under 8s safe words for rude bits scenario!”

He was laughing too now, “Well to get back to my original question, what is the correct age appropriate term….we’ve got winky on one end of the male spectrum and a throbbing love truncheon at the other….there has to be some middle ground suitable for 8 to 12 year olds!! Just like there must be some middle ground for women between cunt and…...and….fairy!” he almost whispered the final word which caused Robin to snort loudly and drop the finger of Twix she was easing from its wrapper.

“Fairy?! Where have you heard that? Oh god tell me that’s what Ilsa used to call hers!” she squawked, scrabbling for the chocolate and absently blowing off a couple of hairs which had stuck to it from the cup holder.

Strike was shaking his head and covered his eyes with his palm, “No! It isn’t from Ilsa….she refers to hers as her honey pot as you well know…..and let’s not get started on Nick being Daddy Bear!”

The pair erupted into real, belly shaking laughter before instantly stilling as there was activity at the ramshackle pair of wooden gates they were watching, “S’nothing, false alarm,” Robin said, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

“What do you call yours then?” Strike asked, “Would it be suitable for children?”

“Nunny,” she replied, her Yorkshire accent making the word adorable, “Although obviously not…...for sexy times,” she rolled her eyes.

“Nunny…..nunny, that’s OK for kids…..right, so we want the cock equivalent of nunny,” Strike stated, sniffing and lighting up a cigarette, puffing the initial drag out of his cranked window in an attempt to cease thinking about sexy times involving Robin’s nunny!

Robin considered his statement; there were very few people who could indulge in such a conversation with no guile or agenda, but Robin thought that Strike might just be one of them!  
“I mean, you could just use the proper term; penis!” she suggested.

Strike wrinkled his brow and nose, “Sounds too…..I don’t know…..it’s correct and everything, but….it’s what you’d say if you needed a professional to look at it, not when your mum asks you to check it all out after your brother throws a plastic monster truck and gets a direct hit!”

“Ok, what about...getting with emojis…..call it his aubergine!” she suggested, only partially in jest.

“No! Because then you’d have to call a girl’s a taco...and that is definitely not for the pre-pubescent…..don’t want them making the link to eating….and….well…..general mouth based action!” he added, feeling a small flush to his cheeks and considering that he could blame the open window.

Robin glared at him, “Cormoran, it’s not a taco because of how you eat one…..it’s because of the shape,” but she found herself swallowing and glancing at his off-centred lips as he dislodged a stray piece of tobacco from his lower lip.

“Is it?” he asked, seemingly surprised, “Oh! Ok….but no, not aubergines, tacos or clam shells.”

“Meat and two veg? Widger? Crown jewels? Tail? Tackle?” Robin sighed, "I think my brothers have used all of those over the years."

Strike raised his palm, cigarette gripped between two fingers, “All fine examples, I’m just not sure where to pitch based on Lucy’s insistence on winky!”

“How about you don’t worry about it and if the situation arises you ask Jack, or whoever it is what word they use? I mean, I’m sure they’ll just go beetroot coloured and snigger, but either way you’ll have solved the problem!” Robin suggested, “And if Lucy wants to call it a winky…..she can….I’m sure she doesn’t call Greg’s that," she mumbled the final statement, but it was audible enough for Strike to hear and pretend to retch at.

“Enough!” he shouted, although his eyes were twinkling with amusement, “We do have the best conversations though!”

Robin giggled back at him, “We do! We definitely do….right I’m off, don’t forget I’m hosting take out night, see you at 8ish?”

He nodded, “Yep, Nick got called in for a shift but he messaged earlier and said he’ll make it. What are we having?”  
Robin had intended to get Chinese, but on a whim she decided on a change of plan, “Mexican!” she shouted over her shoulder, “And plenty of tacos,” she mumbled into her scarf as she strode off in the direction of the tube.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you RobinLeStrange for the inspiration......although that sounds very wrong!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, send me prompts and ideas for these daft drabbles.  
The weirder and vaguer the better!


End file.
